A Love Story?
A love Story.
I looked down into the open grave the coffin was white until someone
threw a handful dry soil on its lid. Unreal it had nothing to with me, we
had met forty years ago and she left me saying she didn’t love me more.
I turned away, looked towards the bay, it was transparent, I could see fish
swim about, on its floor crabs, lobster that had escaped the net, and
sea plants swaying in the mild current. I poem floated up to the surface of
my consciousness I shook my head this is unseemly, threw the poem back
into a dreamy mere, like an angler who has caught very a small trout, saw
it float in the dark water of my restless mind. Her husband was crying
I embraced him “You loved her too, ” he whispered. I looked to the bay it
was blue and I couldn’t see clearly anymore, I was no longer sure whether
I had loved her as much as he had.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Related quotes
The Creation of the Moon
The man cut his throat and left his head there.
The others went to get it.
When they got there they put the head in a sack.
Farther on the head fell out onto the ground.
They put the head back in the sack.
Farther on the head fell out again.
Around the first sack they put a second one that
was thicker.
But the head fell out just the same.
It should be explained that they were taking the head
to show to the others.
They did not put the head back in the sack.
They left it in the middle of the road.
They went away.
They crossed the river.
But the head followed them.
They climbed up a tree full of fruit
to see whether it would go past.
The head stopped at the foot of the tree
and asked them for some fruit.
So the men shook the tree.
The head went to get the fruit.
Then it asked for some more.
So the men shook the tree
so that the fruit fell into the water.
The head said it couldn't get the fruit from there.
So the men threw the fruit a long way
to make the head go a long way to get it so they could go.
While the head was getting the fruit
the men got down from the tree and went on.
The head came back and looked at the tree
and didn't see anybody
so went on rolling down the road.
The men had stopped to wait
to see whether the head would follow them.
They saw the head come rolling.
They ran.
They got to their hut they told the others that the head
was rolling after them and to shut the door.
All the huts were closed tight.
When it got there the head commanded them to open the doors.
The owners would not open them because they were afraid.
So the head started to think what it would turn into.
If it turned into water they would drink it.
If it turned into earth they would walk on it.
If it turned into a house they would live in it.
If it turned into a steer they would kill it and eat it.
If it turned into a cow they would milk it.
If it turned into a bean they would cook it.
If it turned into the sun
When men were cold it would heat them.
If it turned into rain the grass would grow and the
animals would crop it.
So it thought, and it said, "I will turn into the moon."
It called, "Open the doors, I want to get my things."
They would not open them.
The head cried. It called out, "At least give me
my two balls of twine."
They threw out the two balls of twine through a hole.
It took them and threw them into the sky.
It asked them to throw it a little stick too
to roll the thread around so it could climb up.
Then it said, "I can climb, I am going to the sky."
It started to climb.
The men opened the doors right away.
The head went on climbing.
The men shouted, "You going to the sky, head?"
It didn't answer.
As soon as it got to the Sun
it turned into the Moon.
Toward evening the Moon was white, it was beautiful.
And the men were surprised
to see that the head had turned into the Moon.
Love You More
Twas 12 am, in the soft of the night,
12 am in the glow of a lamplight,
When you whispered, 'I love you more.
You love me, but i love you more.'
I still remember feeling my heart melt.
Still remember the warmth i felt.
That someone loved me despite my mistakes.
That someone was messaging me, to say hello 'fore i was awake.
The reassuring touch of your hand;
You pushing me over into the sand.
For once in my life, I found myself living a dream
Or so it seemed,
But as i finally found, your words were an illusion:
All part of a delusion.
As the rot which had long set made you break,
And suddenly, my little world was left in your wake.
I found myself gazing into space-
Wondering how one can say 'i love you more' to the face
Then break and run
Spurning the said and done.
My puppy love suddenly was faced with a rude awakening,
As i discovered how it feels to have your heart breaking.
All throughout, i remembered that night, 'i love you more.'
I finally realise you just said it then, but didn't mean it at all-
When you said 'I love you more.'
Didn't know you didn't mean it at all.
Sometimes I wonder if you loved me ever,
And at times I wish you never.
I no longer know if what you said,
You actually really meant.
If there ever was a time when you loved me,
I just can't see how it could be.
But i loved you, still love you like before,
And sadly i've come to see: i love you more
Love you more....
Story behind the poem:
Well, I don't think there's much to say. Other than this poem is dedicated to Chik.
'When it's all said and done, there's more said than done.'
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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Love Is Only Sleeping
She looked at me
And the emptiness in her eyes was cruel to see
Then she turned away and said,
Once I loved, but love is dead
And I whispered, sometimes love is only sleeping
She said, I cannot cry
And I cannot give or feel or even try
And her voice was hard and cold
Then her sweet young face looked old
And I whispered, sometimes love is only sleeping
Through the endless days and nights
Could not help but wrap herself in sorrow (sorrow)
Through the endless days and nights
She waited for a shiny new tomorrow
Love was sleeping, sleeping
She looked at me
And her smiling tears were warm and sweet and free
And the moonlight kissed her eyes
As it mingled with our sighs
And she whispered, sometimes love is only sleeping
And she whispered, sometimes love is only sleeping
Only sleeping...
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Poem
THIS POEM
This poem
This first poem
This last poem
This poem that invented Poetry
This one and only one poem
This fictional poem
This ideal poem
This perfect poem
This would – be holy poem
This unreal poem
This poem which is not a poem
This poem which is the essence of all poetry
This poem
And that poem
And my poem
And your poem
And all poems
Poem poem poem poem poem
This poem
Mine and yours
This one small poem of so so many
And not such a good poem at all.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Poem Is Just A Poem
a poem is just a poem and if it is just a poem
it must be just a poem just like another poem
a poem is nothing but just a poem otherwise
it cannot be my poem; it may speak about
anything, or something, or about everything,
but my poem is just a poem just like anybody's
poem, which is just but a poem, like any other
poem, for a poem to be a poem it must just be
a poem: it has nothing to do with my love, and death
my life, or bliss, but as i have told you, once, twice
thrice, eat some rice, and be that wise, a poem is
just a poem, just like your poem. Why do you insist
on asking, what is happening to me? I am not a
poem, for i am but just the composer of the poem,
need i tell you again, that a poem is just a poem?
just like any other poem, which is just a poem
it is just a voice in my head that i have heard
someone comes and speaks and i listen so
this poem is not actually my poem but the poem
of someone else's: theirs not mine, from a mind.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Wanted The Sky To Write Me A Poem
I WANTED THE SKY TO WRITE ME A POEM
I wanted the sky to write me a poem
I looked up to its dark spaces, grey clouds, deep stars-
It said to me,
“You are the poem
wander freely
the world is forever open
before you.”
I looked up at the sky again
And the Beauty of the night
Was too great for me
To bear the Silence of.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Chornicles of a Dark Heart Part 12 Two Sides to Every Story
I dared to say those magic words ('I love you')
As people passed by in herds
you looked a little bit confused in our silence contest
But this is where the poem changes.. takes an unexpected turn
I guessed what you would say and that i would burn
But you didn't...? you smiled and you drew closer...
closer... thats how you glided forward and whispered to me 4 words
unlike my 3 words the ones that were spoken were like birds
I couldn't believe how happy i was...
I put my arms around you because
because those 4 words.... were 'I love you too'
are just what i needed to hear...
I silently knew my own thoughts for once! !
who knew the open book could read i knew that 'I loved you'
poem by David Knox
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That Cat Won't Sit On Your Lap
She warned me
That cat won't sit on your lap
She won't let you pick her up
And she won't let you sit on your lap
She likes to rub her head on you
But that's it
She won't let you pick her up
The cat looked at me
I looked at her
I let her rub her head on my leg
I look at her again and made a cat noise
She said, you'll see, she doesn't let anybody pick her up
I just looked at the cat
She looked at me
I reached to pick her up and she flinched
But she came back
I looked at her
And picked her up
She arched her back briefly
I rubbed her head, which she liked
The cat stayed on my lap
She said....how did you do that?
I said, I just did!
I looked a the cat
she looked at me
And we agreed not to tell
I put her down
As I did she knowingly looked back at me.
poem by James T. Adair
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And You Don’t Remember Me
I sat on the park bench
pen and notebook in hand.
I watched all the people
as they passed on by.
I wondered how in life
each one of them had fared
with their happiness
and their sorrows.
I looked for inspiration
for something to write.
She looked at me and smiled,
I smiled back
thinking that was that.
“You don’t remember me? ”
She said and sat down.
I looked at her again
as memories swirled
around in my mind.
She was right
I didn’t remember her
Her hair was mousey colour
with flecks of grey
starting to appear here and there.
There were thick lines
across her forehead,
crow feet lines
near the corners of her eyes.
The corners of her mouth
drooped just slightly.
Her blues eyes were striking
and I knew I had seen them before,
but they were with a younger face
a long time ago.
A face that lit up
whenever she spoke.
“You still don’t remember me? ”
She asked once again.
I shook my head,
but unfortunately, I did.
I could remember
all the beauty
she had had in her youth,
before time had ravaged her
and taken away her beauty
and her youth.
She looked so sad.
I wanted to reach out
like I always wanted to,
but something deep inside,
a little voice you could call it,
kept telling me no.
My urge to hold her
was trying to win out,
but I couldn’t do it.
She was no longer
a part of my life.
All she was now
was a memory I clung to,
a memory of my youth
so long, long ago.
With notebook and pen,
I smiled and bit her farewell.
I whispered her name
as I said a last goodbye.
I didn’t look back
or I would have looked back with regret.
She was a past,
something none of us can ever relive.
poem by David Harris
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The Second Time
Written by stevie nicks and rick vito.
Was it in my mind
Or was it true
That woman used to hollywood living
Do you remember how
The angels sang
And your sorrows left you there
Right before the lights came up
Do you remember
You took my hand
Do you remember, my friend
Did you feel like it was
The second time with you,
That feeling of a vivid memory
Well it had to do
With a dream come true
And someone that you loved
And would always love
The second time around
For us
She never looked back
Someone that you loved
And would always love
The second time around, for us
She never looked back
She could never look back
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Thought To Begin The Day With A Poem
I THOUGHT TO BEGIN THE DAY WITH A POEM
I thought to begin the day with a poem
But inside myself I hear only my own slow emptiness
Word by word I try to hear
And there is some small motion now
But still
A real poem
A poem of beauty
A poem of light
A poem of love
A poem that makes the dreamer long to dream-
And the lover long to love-
A poem that moves-
Well it is very very dark outside
And the world straining to give
Small rain to a dry land
Seems to say,
‘There may be a poem today
But it is not the poem you dream
Not the poem others will love
As you have loved
True poetry.’
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The poem
I wrote a poem that didn't
ryhme,
i wrote a poem that didn't ryhme to the one I love,
i wrote a poem that didn't ryhme to the one I love
more than life,
i wrote a poem that didn't ryhme to the one I love more than life,
of which she did more than like,
the poem was short,
repeated myself alot,
but the one I loved more than life,
felt that love is like the poem I wrote,
full of joy and full of hurt,
the poem I wrote when I was full of hype,
coz the one I loved more than life is the one that now fills in my life all gaps,
the one that brings me up when am down,
a smile on my face from a frown,
music to my ears when we talk,
love in my heart when I'm near,
i wrote a poem that didn't ryhme for the one I love more than life.
poem by Kennedy Musyoka
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Timmy The Mole
Timmy the mole dug a winding hole
to keep his family in,
but one rainy day the water found its way
and his family had to run or swim.
As fast as they ran the water began
to touch the last one’s tail.
“You must try to run faster to avoid a disaster, ”
said Timmy, as they looked certain to fail.
They ran up a slope, which gave them some hope,
as the chasing water seemed to slow down,
but they came to a dead end and could no longer ascend,
and it looked certain that they would drown.
The moles frantically dug away, on this gloomy day
as they tried desperately to get above ground.
They saw light above and kissed each other with love,
and escaped from being drowned.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Mermaid
Hey when I was a lad in fishing town an old man said to me
You can spend your life your jolly life just sailing on the sea
Now you can search the world for pretty girls till your eyes are weak and dim
But don't go swimming with the mermaid son if you don't know how to swim
If you don't know how to swim
For her hair is green as seaweed and her skin is blue and pale
And I tell you now before you start you can love that girl with all your heart
But you're just gonna love the upper part you're not gonna like the tail
So I signed onto a whaling ship and my very first day at sea
I seen a mermaid in the waves reaching out to me
Come live with me in the sea said she and down on the ocean's floor
I'll show you a million wonderous things you never seen before
Oh you never seen before
So over I jumped and she pulled me down down to her seaweed bed
And the pillow made of tortoise shell she placed beneath my head
She fed me shrimps and caviar upon the silver dish
From her head to her waist she was my taste but the bottom part was a fish
Oh her bottom part was a fish
Oh her hair were green as seaweed her eyes were blue and pale
And I loved that girl with all my heart I vowed we'd never part
But I knew the back was not too smart cause I did not like the tail
And then one day when I looked up I saw a sailin' ship
And I met the stare of a millionaire out on a fishing trip
A diamond ring he tied to a string and lowered it down to the water
And my love divine she went for his line and that was the way he caught her
Yes that was the way he caught her
So I sat and cried to the tide same to the clams and whales
How I missed my love her seaweed hair and the silvery shine of her scales.
Just then her sister swam on by, and set my heart awhirl
For her upper part was an ugly old fish but the bottom part was girl
Yes the bottom part was girl
Yes her knees are pink and rosy and her toes are small and frail
Her body it's a work of art and I love that girl with all my heart
And I don't give a damn about the upper part and that's how I end my tale
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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This Poem Will Be For My Mother And Father
THIS POEM WILL BE FOR MY MOTHER AND FATHER
This poem will be for my mother and father
In my old age-
Why not one more poem for them?
Who were my world
Who gave me what I am
Who in their life together
Struggled and endured through the pain
Loved in their own way-
Raised us-
Why not think of them again?
This early morning in Israel
Far away from Troy New York
Where they made their story?
Why not one small poem for them,
Who are no longer here
Who were everything once?
Why not for Ma and Dad,
The only ones the real ones the ones I love
Ma and Dad and Jakie and Joycie and me.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poisoned Rose
The poisoned rose
That you gave to me
It left me half alive
And half in ecstasy
But if half of your love
Is all I can win
Give me just a fraction
But no more medicine
The poisoned rose
On a valentine card
That you take straight to the heart
That you call my junkyard
But if all I can do
Is save pieces of you
The piece of your mind
The piece of your heart
Didnt tear me apart
Like the poisoned rose
I received from you
I dont know
How we came to grow
Into this very sad affair
Everytime we do the decent thing
Somebody spikes the drink
And a single becomes a pair
The poisoned rose
That you wear at your best
That I keep pressed between the white sheets
Where you lie half undressed
I threw away my shirt and shoes
You looked and I dived in
Its just you and me now
cause I threw away the gin
I threw away your alibis
And all your worn-out clothes
I threw myself upon the floor
But I couldnt throw away
This poisoned rose
This poisoned rose
This poisoned rose
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Favourites
Authors are funny creatures
whenever we write.
Most of the time
we don’t like what we’ve written,
but there are occasions
when we will write something
that we really do like,
then we hate
letting that fledgling out of the nest.
I’ve been writing for more years
than I really care to admit,
and yes, I have my favourites
among all the writing I’ve done.
A novel called Blind Tiger
has never left the nest
and a short story called
The Man Who Was Always Late,
again never seen by anyone.
However is saying that,
there have been a couple
I have actually let go.
Both were originally song lyrics,
which I’ve turned into poems.
One I actually sang in a concert at one time
with the curious title of
I’ll Take All The Blame.
The other has really done me proud,
it has reached the dizzy heights
of the top 500 poems here.
It was only released
because I felt it was the only good thing
I had at the time
and is called
Just Beyond The Sunset.
I loved it when I wrote it
on a merry-go-round
some forty odd years ago
as I looked towards the west
at a setting sun.
Now it is the best-loved poem I have
with another fifteen others
adding it to their favourites as well.
26 December 2007
poem by David Harris
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A parable about a real woman
There were six men in her life
And they all loved her, but...
Their love was so different.
The first one was very rich.
He loved her because she was beautiful.
He just wanted to have a doll,
To demonstrate her to everyone
And listen to everyones' saying:
'Wow! What a beauty you've got! '
So, she had left him.
The second one loved her because he loved sex
And all the time in bed he repeated:
'Oh, you behave like a whore!
I want you more and more.'
She was fed up with him and left him too.
The third one wanted her to give birth to 11 boys
As he wanted to make his own football team.
She wouldn't say that she didn't like football or children
But....11 boys! She just imagined their noise.
The forth man was a famous sculptor.
She was a muse for him, his Goddess.
He even made a pedestal for her.
But she also had to leave him
As she didn't want to be a secret object.
The fifth one liked the way she cooked.
But he was always hungry, so she understood:
If one day she wouldn't have enough food for him
He would eat her leaving only the bones.
There were six men in her life
And they all loved her but....
Their love was so different.
When the sixth man came into her life
He proclaimed: 'I love you because you are a REAL WOMAN! '
He loved her when she was smiling,
He loved her when she was crying,
He loved her when she was capricious or angry.
But her food was so delicious.
He loved her when she was sometimes foolish
Or sometimes very smart.
He loved her when she was sometimes lazy
And didn't feel like cooking.
He loved her because she was just a woman,
A woman with a womanly soul.
And she had to be understood.
She loved him because he discovered her soul.
She loved him because he was just a man.
When he looked at her or just touched her
Her soul was coming to light.
He had brought her life to delight.
She loved him because he was a REAL MAN.
There were six men in her life, but...
May be there were not six but seven or eight?
Who knows?
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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A Question
AND so in the death-darkened chamber they met,
The woman that once he had loved and the one he loved yet—
The wife who had warped his desire and the woman he could not forget.
They stood by the bier where between them he slept,
And the love he had lost in his wife to her swimming eyes leapt;
But the woman his life had belonged to—his paramour—spoke not nor wept.
It was only a story of sated desire—
Of a love merely sensual burnt to an ash by its fire,
And a husband who turned to a more luscious love that was his for the hire.
All had sinned. For the husband had killed by his clutch,
Rough-handed, the fruit of a love that had dropped at his touch.
One woman's great sin was not loving, his wife's was in loving too much.
And so he had died; it was over at last;
And across him the two women looked at each other aghast—
Across his cold corse, and across the cold corse of the loathsome dead Past!
Then the smouldering love of the wife leapt to flame,
And she poured forth her kisses upon him, and called on his name.
But the other said “No, he is nothing to you; soul and body I claim!”
They looked at each other awhile. Said the wife wearily,
“He is mine; for I loved him, and ever shall love him; let be!”
But the other sneered, “No, he is mine, and mine only, because he loved me!”
Then the two laid their hands on the body between;
And fought for it, wife against paramour, fiercely, unseen—
For the body diseased and polluted, as ever his spirit had been.
And this is a question for answer in Hell:
To which of the two did his spirit belong, can you tell?
Think, was it the woman he loved, or the one who had loved him too well?
poem by Arthur Henry Adams
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Looking for Encouragement in ICU
He's gone
I never saw him go
Surprised that he fell
I thought he would get up
At first he looked like he'd be OK
He was upset that he'd slipped
Confused that the legs hadn't held
The strength that steadied
The foot and braced the legs
Held at the smoker in 1932
When three solid lefts
Couldn't take him down
Held when the Hammond trim saw kicked
Held on the wet rocks of Redwood Creek
When the salmon jumped and were on
Held splitting a second cord of wood
While after loading the first
I thought I needed a break
Now when he needed it most
They didn't hold they gave
Yet he somehow still held on
Over the ledge I could see him there
He was pulling himself up
Or at least I wanted him to
I tried to talk to him
I got his attention
He silently shook his head
The same as when we hunted
When I thought I had a clear shot
And he knew I didn't
He always challenged me
No matter what I did
To be a better shot
'We're not out here to wound
Chase down a revine then
Drag bloodshoot venison through the brush.
We're out here to put meat on the table.'
He also knew when to fish
And where the quail hid
He always encouraged me
To know what I was doing
Before I did it
'Its real important you learn
The difference between your ass
And a hole in the ground.'
Was his way
Of putting it
I knew what he meant
Shaking his head I recognized his signal
I still wanted to help even though
I couldn't have gotten to him anyway
Then he stopped trying
The strength and gruffness were gone
I was mad at him
For the tears in his eyes
For not trying
For knowing more than me
He knew there was no way up
The others calling to him
Were of no use
I knew then what he wanted
To push away from the side
To be over and done with it
He was caught tangled held back
He couldn't even let go
When he wanted to
I looked and he was there
I couldn't help
I didn't want to watch
I looked again
He was gone
I never saw him go
poem by Tom J. Mariani
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